


Internal Validity

by Byrcca



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Episode: s04e07 Scientific Method, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-03 12:15:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14568816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byrcca/pseuds/Byrcca
Summary: “So, our whole relationship might be based on some alien experiment.” B’Elanna looked at him and cocked her head. Her voice was soft, and Tom smiled. “You never know,” he said.





	Internal Validity

**Author's Note:**

> There’s an Easter egg in here for anyone who’s read my other stories. Virtual chocolate for you if you find it. }}}:-)

experiment: the act of conducting a controlled test or investigation.

internal validity: an experiment is said to have internal validity if it can accurately determine whether the independent variable produces an effect.

independent variable: the variable that is manipulated or changed by the researcher.

relationship: a mutual connection between people; the state of being connected or related.

cause: events that provide the generative force of something.

process: a particular course of action intended to achieve a result.

way: how something is done or how it happens.

will: the capability of conscious choice and decision.

Overview of the Scientific Method:

The scientific method is a process for experimentation that is used to explore observations and answer questions. Scientists use the scientific method to search for cause and effect relationships in nature. In other words, they design an experiment so that changes to one item cause something else to vary in a predictable way.

The scientific method has five basic steps, plus one feedback step:

Make an observation.  
Ask a question.  
Form a hypothesis, or testable explanation.  
Make a prediction based on the hypothesis.  
Test the prediction.  
Iterate: use the results to make new hypotheses or prediction

***

1\. Make an observation.

 

“You know, I've been thinking about what the captain said.” B’Elanna removed her combadge and placed it deliberately on the coffee table. She glanced up at Tom as he crossed the room. He sat back down on the couch, angling his long body toward her. 

“Thinking maybe she was right? Me, too.” He looked chagrined. He had that, ‘oops, but you’ll forgive me, right?’ look on his face. It usually swayed her, hell, it usually swayed the captain, but this time she was uncertain.

“We have been a little out of control lately.” She shook her head, and laughed. 

 

2\. Ask a question.

 

Tom pulled back a bit and the smile slid off his face as he sobered. “Do you think we really were?” he asked. 

“What?” B’Elanna arched an eyebrow.

“Out of control. Those aliens could have just been messing around with our hormones just to see what would happen.” 

He looked thoughtful, and she paused. Stilled. “You're right, they could have. And we don't know how long they were on board. They could have been tampering with us for months.” 

“Well,” Tom smiled, “when you think about it you did have a pretty abrupt change of heart a couple of weeks ago.” He lifted a hand to her face and traced the upswept lock of hair that she’d held back with a barrette. He loved the colour of her hair; he loved being allowed to touch it. He loved being allowed to touch her in secret places, ones that had less to do with sex, and more with intimacy. He could touch her neck below where her hair began to curl under her ear, the soft hollow between her breasts, rub his thumb across the inside of her elbow. “What made you realise that you love me all of a sudden?”

“Just a feeling,” she replied. 

 

3\. Form a hypothesis or testable explanation.

 

“So,” she continued, “our whole relationship might be based on some alien experiment.” B’Elanna looked at him and cocked her head. 

Her voice was soft, and Tom smiled. “You never know,” he said. He loved it when she teased him; he loved that she felt she could. 

“Well, I think that explains it.” She put down her drink and looked away, glanced toward the door. 

_Don’t worry_ , Tom wanted to tell her, _Harry’s not coming back._ “I guess we should just call it off, then,” he said instead, reaching for her thigh. 

“I think so.”

He didn’t notice the catch in her voice, the hollowness. The introspection. He grinned and leaned toward her, “Thank God we found out in time.” 

“Thank God,” she said. B’Elanna stood, grabbing her combadge on her way up, stepped away and walked the long way around the coffee table, out of his reach.

“B’Elanna? Where are you going?” Tom stood as well, startled, but willing to play along. His forehead creased in a frown. They were playing, right? 

 

4\. Make a prediction based on the hypothesis.

 

“I think...I think I should go,” she answered him. 

He grinned, willing this to be a joke. She had a sharp sense of humour, his girl. It took a little getting used to. “Sure,” he said. “Just in case this is all some sort of weird alien experiment.” 

Her head jerked up and she stared at him, her eyes huge in her suddenly pale face. “Yeah,” she agreed. “I’m sure we’ll…” she floundered for a second, “get back to normal soon.”

She headed for the door, her back tense and her hands clenched. Tom had the terrible—and belated—feeling that she wasn’t kidding around. “B’Elanna, wait!” He lunged after her and smacked his shin on the coffee table, spilling the wine and rattling the plates. By the time he’d stepped into the living area, the doors had closed behind her. He stood there, a meter away from the door, expecting it to open, expecting her to walk through with a big grin on her face, expecting her to wind her arms around his neck, to laugh, to kiss him silly. It didn’t happen. 

He waited a little longer and it still didn’t happen. He glanced back at the couch, the spilled wine, and the fork on the floor. “What the hell just happened?” he asked himself. 

 

5\. Test the prediction.

 

Tom stepped into the messhall and looked around. She wasn’t here. They’d been meeting for breakfast for months, since long before they’d started dating, but she was nowhere in sight. Well, he was early; it was barely gone seven. Harry wasn’t even here. He walked up to the counter and greeted a cheerful Neelix. 

“Good morning, Tom!” Neelix enthused. He glanced around the room, then leaned forward conspiratorially. “I haven’t seen B’Elanna yet this morning, but there’s still time for me to reserve a table for two if you’re planning a romantic breakfast.” He winked and sent Tom a big grin. 

Romantic, in the middle of the messhall, sure. “Umm, yeah,” Tom replied. “Maybe.” His eyes shot back toward the door. “What passes for coffee this morning,” he asked. _Play it cool,_ he advised himself. _No need to panic yet._

Neelix turned and grabbed a thermos, and poured a thick, black liquid into a mug. He offered it to Tom. “You might want a spoon,” he commented. 

Tom’s eyebrows went up and he nodded. “Thanks,” he said. He lifted the cup to his mouth and took a cautious slurp. Not bad. Not coffee, but not bad. 

“I can have a new batch of fritters ready in a jiffy if you’d care to wait.”

“Sure,” Tom agreed. He wandered toward an empty table, their table, and hit his combadge. “Paris to Torres,” he called.

There was a pause, then nothing. He quirked his brow and frowned. Odd. He repeated his call. 

“ _Torres here._ ” Finally. He smiled. 

“Hey,” he said. “Are you planning on having breakfast? I know it’s risky, but it is the most important meal of the day.” Another lengthy pause. “B’Elanna?”

“ _I’m busy, Lieutenant. Torres out._ ”

Tom stilled, dread creeping over him. _Lieutenant?_ She wasn’t serious last night, was she? She couldn’t be. He’d asked the computer her location last night and she’d been in her quarters. He’d debated going to her immediately, but had decided to let her squirm, to let her wonder for a bit, like he had. When he’d decided she’d had enough, he’d headed down and stood in the corridor leaning on her door chime. She hadn’t answered, so he asked the computer her location again, and she’d been in engineering, no doubt checking on that plasma manifold. He knew how that stuff could nag at her. But she hadn’t come back to his quarters, or her own, and he’d been pissed off that she’d abandoned him for engineering, so he’d eaten the fucking salad and drank the fucking wine and sulked. And now she was _busy_? 

He chewed his coffee-substitute, choked down his fritters, and headed to the bridge to relieve Jenkins a little early. He had nothing else to do. 

 

** 

Baytart appeared at his elbow and Tom glanced up at him, confused. There was no way his shift was over already. He’d done his best to concentrate on the helm, but he’d been brooding, fighting the fear that was winding its way into his belly. Was she serious? She couldn’t be serious. 

“Lunch, Lieutenant?” Baytart asked. “I know it’s a risk, but…” He smiled.

Tom stared at him, a little shaken by his use of the joke he’d said to B’Elanna this morning. He looked behind him at Harry who nodded and lifted an eyebrow, then he stood and headed for the ‘lift. He waited there while Harry gave some instructions to Ensign Lang, and deliberately avoided his gaze when Harry finally joined him. “Messhall,” Tom called.

“So,” Harry said, “rough night?”

Tom’s head snapped up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Just a joke. You don’t look like you got much sleep.” Harry grinned. 

“I got plenty.” In truth, he hadn’t. He’d lain awake wondering how his evening had gone out the airlock, and how best to fix whatever it was that had spooked his girlfriend. And had spent not a small amount of time wondering if she _was still_ his girlfriend. He was even less sure this morning. 

“Sorry I interrupted your big date,” Harry said. 

“Uh huh.”

The turbolift stopped and Tom strode out, eager to get to the mess and see if B’Elanna was there. Jor and Tabor passed them and, was it his imagination or did they glare at him? The messhall doors opened and, surprise surprise, no half-Klingons in sight. Tom’s lips thinned and he felt a bad mood kicking at his hard-won equilibrium. _It didn’t mean anything_ , he told himself, _she often worked through lunch_. 

While Tom was standing in the middle of the mess brooding, Harry had picked up their lunch trays, and he shoved Tom’s into his hands. “Pleeka rind casserole,” Harry smiled. “My favourite.” 

Tom sighed. _What’s next_?, he thought. _A spatial anomaly with the Borg on the other end?_ Dalby and Jarvin were just vacating a table, so he followed Harry over to them. He smiled a hello, and Dalby’s expression hardened as he looked Tom in the eye and dropped his tray. Lutdy sauce spilled over the edge of the tray and dripped onto the table. Tom sighed and pushed the it aside. 

“That was rude,” Harry commented, sitting and digging in.

“Yeah,” Tom said. “I wonder what’s up with him?” But he had an idea. 

“So, any plans with B’Elanna tonight?” Harry asked around a mouthful of casserole. 

“No.” Tom didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to think about it. “I have sickbay duty right after I’m done on the bridge.” 

“Huh,” Harry commented. “How’d your big date go last night?”

“Fine,” Tom said. But it hadn’t. He tried to remember exactly where it had taken a nosedive. It would be convenient to blame Harry’s interruption, but since correlation does not equal causality, that wasn’t it. They’d been talking about the wine, and the captain’s censure about how out of control they’d been. And he’d made a stupid, fucking joke that maybe it was their hormones being manipulated by those aliens. Which implied that he wasn’t actually interested in her. That he hadn’t been interested in her for the better part of a year. Damnit. 

“I’ll see you later,” Tom stood, abandoning his tray as he strode out of the mess.

“Oh, sure,” Harry said, gesturing with his fork. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll clear the table when I’m done.” He harrumphed and shoved another forkful of casserole into his mouth. 

 

** 

Tom entered engineering full steam ahead, a man on a mission, but slowed, then stopped. Where was she? He spied Nicoletti at a nearby console and strode over to her, a friendly smile on his face. “Hey, Sue,” he said. 

She glanced at him and frowned, then dismissed him and looked back down at her work. He paused and glanced around. Yep, people had noticed his arrival, and if the death glares that were being sent in his direction were any indication, they weren’t pleased to see him. “Umm, have you seen Lieutenant Torres around?” he asked, striving for formal since friendly hadn’t worked. At least it wasn’t just the former Maquis who were pissed at him, it appeared to be the entire engineering crew. There was some comfort in that, actually. 

She didn’t bother to look at him. “She’s on the upper level.”

“Thanks,” he said, with no small amount of irony. It was lost on her. As he walked away he could swear he heard her mutter, ‘just fix it’ and wondered if she were talking to him or herself. 

 

*

B’Elanna was having a _Bad Day_. The problem with the plasma manifold had been worse than she’d anticipated, and she’d ended up staying in engineering until almost three in the morning. Then she couldn’t sleep because her conversation with Tom kept running through her brain. On top of that, they’d been experiencing small, irritating cascade failures all morning. Nothing major, nothing that would interfere with helm control or her engines, but it meant that her crew had to go through a checklist—she both loved and hated the dreaded checklist—tracking down the problem. No luck yet. 

She was tired, hungry, and still upset over her date with Tom last night. What if he didn’t really care about her? What if he didn’t really love her—not that he’d ever said he did! That wasn’t lost on her, though he did seem to delight in the fact that she’d admitted her love for him. Admitted. Like it was some big, terrible secret; like it was a secret shame. And what if he was right? What if everything she felt for him, everything she thought she felt, had been merely the result of hormonal manipulation by those aliens? A big science experiment. What then? 

She didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to think about him. Didn’t want to think about his hands on her breasts, his lips on her skin. She paused and lowered her head onto the console as her body warmed. Maybe. Maybe they could still… They were consenting adults, they didn’t have to be in love to share some fun times, have mind blowing, passionate sex. She’d had casual sex before. The trouble was, sex with Tom Paris was anything but casual for her. The other trouble was that casual implied just that, that he could go ahead and have a _casual_ time with anyone else he desired. She only desired him. _But it’s not real_ , she reminded herself. Now to convince her hormones of that. 

She straightened and slammed the heel of her hand against the edge of the console; it protested with a loud, extended beep, the same way it had taken offence to their little PDA the other day. God, what had she been thinking? She would never normally have done anything like that. Never. It was all Tom’s idea; he seemed to get off on the possibility of being caught. That was it, she decided, it wasn’t her that provided the thrill for a bored Tom Paris, it was the risk. He thrived on risk, and, the Day of Honor fiasco aside, their lives had been decidedly boring lately. Boring for the Delta Quadrant, anyway. The idea was sobering, like a splash of icy water. He’d been bored, and saw her as a distraction. And then those aliens had shown up and done something to them that supercharged the pleasure centers in their brains and bypassed her common sense. 

Well, things could get back to normal now. Things could just settle down. She would just settle down. She would. In time. Warm fingers grazed her elbow, and Tom said, “hey” way the hell too close to her ear. She jumped, and whirled to face him, conscious of the fact that her arm tingled to the tips of her fingers. She took a step backward and bumped into the console. Their console. 

“What?” she yelped. 

He held up his hands in a sign of surrender. “I just wanted to say hi, see how you’re doing.” 

He was staring at her a little too intently for her peace of mind. She stepped sideways, putting a little distance between them. “I’d be doing better if it weren’t for that little trick with the pulsars the other day,” she snapped. She turned her back on him and started jabbing at the console.

“Hey,” he said, irritation creeping into his tone, “that wasn’t me. I was in sickbay, remember? You almost died?” 

He said it like she’d done it deliberately, like she’d somehow convinced the alveoli in her lungs to stop processing oxygen just to inconvenience him. It was another reminder that those aliens had been messing with them for, well, weeks at least. 

“Sure,” she said, and crossed to a hatch in the wall. She crouched and yanked it open, then pulled out a tray of isolenear chips. She busied herself with them, hoping he’d take the hint. He stared at her.

“So, I guess you haven’t changed your mind?” He’d followed her, and was standing beside the hatch, arms crossed over his chest. B’Elanna noticed how it made the muscles in his arms bunch. She looked away. “You know, this is ridiculous!” He seemed to have run out of things to say. She continued to check the chips and ignore him. 

Finally, he sighed dramatically. “Well, I’d help you with that later, but I have to work that extra shift in sickbay to pay for our dinner last night.” He waited, but she refused to look at him. “Fine,” he said, and strode out. 

B’Elanna leaned her head against the chip drawer and blew out a breath. “Steady,” she said. “He’s not worth getting all cut up over.” Yeah. Maybe if she said it enough times she’d convince herself. 

 

** 

“Here you go, Lieutenant.” The doctor appeared at Tom’s elbow and handed him a padd. Tom, ever the obedient student, took the padd and scanned the title.

“ _Antiarrhythmic Drug Treatment After Cardioversion of Atrial Fibrillation_. Cardio…? Doc, didn't we cure heart disease a couple of centuries ago?”

“To know where you’re going, you must know where you’ve been.” The doctor answered with a lilt in his voice. “I've decided that your next course of study should encompass the circulatory system of all the races onboard _Voyager_ : human, of course, Bajoran, Vulcan, Bolian, Talaxian, Klingon. And let’s not forget Naomi Wildman. And then there’s Seven. Though her physiology could be a whole separate chapter.”

One which Tom wasn’t exactly eager to delve into.

“While they all perform the same function, in a general sense,” the Doctor continued, “and are comparable to an extent, there are variations in the structure and support systems with which you must become proficient in the event you need to treat a patient in cardiac arrest.”

Tom laughed. 

“What's so funny?” the doctor asked, affronted.

“You want me to study broken hearts?” Tom asked.

“In a manner of speaking, yes. Though, first, you need to become familiar with how they perform when working at maximum efficiency.” 

Tom just shook his head. Seven hours after his aborted talk with B’Elanna he wasn’t feeling any better about the situation and wasn’t exactly in the mood for the doc’s brand of light reading. He hadn’t been aware that his required ‘three shifts a week’ would involve anything more scholarly than brushing up on his first aid training. He scowled at the pad. The doors opened and they glanced over to see Baxter limping in, assisted by Ayala. 

“Please state the nature of the medical emergency,” Tom quipped. The Doctor frowned at him.

“I dropped a free weight on my foot.” Baxter said.

“Really?” Tom asked. “Didn't the safeties—”

“We were in the gym,” Ayala stated. He looked Tom up and down, and Tom sensed disapproval? disappointment? Tom glanced at the doc, who gestured to him, _get on with it._

Tom helped Baxter onto a biobed and flipped open a medical tricorder. He scanned his foot and frowned. “It looks like you have a simple fracture of the proximal phalanx of the right hallux.” He looked into Baxter’s face to see him frowning back at him. “You have boo boo on your biggest little piggy,” he said. 

“Do you need me?” Ayala asked. 

“You can go, unless you’re injured as well?” The doctor answered. 

Ayala shook his head. “Maybe you should stop by the gym yourself, Lieutenant, when you're off shift.”

Tom glanced up and stared at him. It didn't sound like an invitation so much as a threat. “Yeah. Maybe,” he said. He grabbed the bone knitter and ran it over Baxter’s big toe. 

“I want you to take special note of your patient’s heart and respiration rates, Mister Paris. Track the changes. They're a good indicator of whether you're helping, or hurting.”

Tom snorted, feeling melodramatic and distinctly sorry for himself. He was hurting, all right. And a little voice told him that if he took up Ayala’s invitation, he'd be _hurting_ even more.

 

*** 

Why did nothing ever work out the way she wanted it to? Why was nothing ever easy? She’d kept her temper today, mostly, though it had been difficult. And she’d done her best to isolate herself so she could curse freely if she wanted to. Chakotay had noted years ago that giving in to her temper only seemed to feed her irritation, rather than diffuse it. Though, she’d seen him snap on more than one occasion and shove someone against a wall, his forearm to their throat. Of course, that was before he’d put on the uniform again. So she was doing her best to fight the urge to scream in frustration even though she was starting to wonder if _Voyager_ was doing _her_ best to drive her crazy. 

She breathed and pushed down her irritation. Romantic as the notion was, _Voyager_ wasn't a living thing, it was a machine. A complex machine full of interlinked, sometimes warring, systems, but a machine nonetheless. Sort of the inverse of Seven of Nine, she supposed, though she hadn’t seen too much evidence of her humanity. And when machines broke down, they could be fixed. Usually. If they stuck to the checklist, they'd find the problem. Eventually. 

But she wasn’t finding it at the moment. She was finding Vorik, every time she turned around, or looked up, or moved her arm, or breathed in. For a Vulcan, he didn't seem to have a firm grasp on the term, _personal space_. 

“Here.” She handed him her hyperspanner and set the housing panel back in place, then gave it a firm shove. Unfortunately, the fleshy area of her palm directly under her pinky finger was in the way. She roared in pain! “ _Ql’yaH_!” Vorik jumped and stepped back. 

“Are you injured, Lieutenant?” 

B’Elanna felt tears prick her eyes. She yanked her hand back, cradling it to her chest, and concentrated on her breathing. Fuck! That hurt. The housing panel fell to the deck with a _clang!_ and she kicked it. Vorik raised an eyebrow. 

“Perhaps you should go to sickbay, Lieutenant,” he suggested. 

It was on the tip of her tongue to spit, _you think?_ at him when she suddenly remembered Tom was there working that extra shift that he owed Samantha Wildman. The shift to pay for his night off last night. To pay for their dinner, which she’d walked out of. “It's fine,” she said.

“With respect, Lieutenant, it does not look fine to me. You are obviously injured. Your hands are a vital component to performing your job at optimum efficiency. You should not discount the possibility that you may have suffered nerve damage.”

“It’s not nearly that bad,” she scoffed. 

“I disagree, Lieutenant. As you can observe, your blood has already dripped onto the deck creating a slipping hazard.” 

B’Elanna blinked at him. Right about then she would give anything if he would slip in her blood and knock himself out, sparing her any more of his opinions. “Just get the medkit,” she growled. 

He stared at her another moment, one eyebrow aloft, then turned to go do what she said.

 

***** 

He stared at her and it struck him: sometime in the last week the captain had cut her hair. Or, more likely, someone had cut it for her. Should he mention it? Maybe not, if it were days ago and he hadn’t noticed until now, she might get pissed at him, but if he didn’t say anything, would she wonder about his powers of observation? It was the Kobayashi Maru of hair. He almost snorted a laugh. 

A little shorter than B’Elanna’s, it swung around her jaw, and made her look softer, and more relaxed. Or it could be the fact that she was finally free from the monstrous headache that had plagued her for...how long? Days? Weeks? Tom shot a glance at B’Elanna, back in her usual seat beside Chakotay across the briefing room table. She was steadfastly not looking at him, concentrating on Harry and Seven’s report on the new astrometrics lab, months in the making. He should be excited about it, he was excited about it. It was going to make his job plotting their course home a hell of a lot easier, and it may just shave decades off the trip. Not that he’d cared about that two days ago when he’d thought he’d be spending those decades with B’Elanna. 

Tom idly wondered if it might have been the cause of the problem with the plasma manifold. The mysteries of engineering were many and varied. At least to him. B’Elanna was speaking.

“We've logged a whole slew of minor problems in the last few days, Captain. Everything from propulsion to the burners in the messhall. I can't prove it, but I suspect the astrometrics lab is the problem.”

“Slew?” Seven inquired, her eyebrow rising. 

Janeway turned toward her with a smile. “It means a large number of something. More than several, less than heaps.”

“From the Irish Gaelic _sluagh_ , meaning ‘multitude’.” Seven answered. 

The captain tilted her head. “Really?” 

“Yes.”

“Hmm.” She took a sip of her morning coffee.

Tom sat up straighter in his seat. “I can—” he began, but B’Elanna cut him off. 

“Harry might be able to help me track it down.” 

“All right,” Janeway consented. “Seven, you give them a hand. The sooner we have this sorted, the sooner we can get the lab online.”

Tom shut his mouth and frowned. 

“I've ordered another systems diagnostic, Captain. We should have the results in a few hours. Hopefully, they’ll tell us something.”

“Good. Keep me informed. Dismissed.” Janeway nodded to her first officer, then Chakotay and Harry stood and headed for the bridge. She turned her head to address them both. “Tom, B’Elanna, could you two stay behind a moment?”

Tom looked over at B’Elanna, but she was looking at the captain. 

Janeway smiled: a self-depreciating tilt of her lips. “I may have been a little hard on you two the other day,” she began. 

B’Elanna cut her off. “No, Captain. You were right.” She shot a glance at Tom. At Tom’s chest. She straightened her shoulders. “We’ve discussed it and we agreed; we were unprofessional and...out of control. It won't happen again, Captain.”

 _Oh yes it will_ , Tom thought. 

“Well,” Janeway answered, “as long as it doesn't happen in front of the crew…” Her eyes held a teasing glint, but Tom didn't think it was funny. “Okay, B’Elanna. See what you can do about tracking down those bugs. Dismissed.”

“Yes, Captain,” B’Elanna said, and she was out of her chair and out the far door like a shot. 

Tom stood and headed for the bridge. _Why couldn't you say that the other day?_ he muttered.

 

***

“Hmmm. That doesn't look good,” Neelix commented. He was crowding her, practically breathing down her neck. 

B’Elanna sat on the floor of the kitchen in front of the fuel lines for the burners Neelix used when he cooked large pots of sauce or soups. She had the access panel open and had disassembled the power matrix. She was tempted to write them off as a lost cause, if only to spare the crew the agony of more leola root stew, but she had jury-rigged the cookstation when they’d converted the captain’s private dining room into a kitchen, and she felt responsible for its upkeep. She drew the line at feeling guilt for what it produced. 

“Hand me that length of tubing, Neelix,” she said. 

“Here you go.” He was ever cheerful. She peered at him and sighed. 

“I noticed you and Tom haven't been sharing meals the last couple of days,” Neelix ventured, and B’Elanna was instantly wary. 

She stiffened. “We’ve been busy,” she said. 

“Not too busy to come by here separately this morning and I didn’t see you at lunch yesterday,” he observed. 

“I’ve had a lot to do, that’s all.”

“Well, I certainly appreciate your taking the time to do this.” He shifted. “Did you two have a falling out?” 

She glanced at him, and noted his concern. It looked genuine. “It's fine, Neelix,” she said. 

“You don't seem fine, and neither does Tom. In fact, you both seem unhappy.”

She didn't respond to that; she hunched her shoulders and concentrated on hooking up the power line properly. 

“You two were so happy together,” he chortled, “from what I heard, you were practically inseparable.” He smiled and leaned closer to her, raising his eyebrows as if he expected an answer. “Joined at the hip, as they say.”

She sighed. “It… it didn’t work out, Neelix. It was a mistake. That’s all.”

“A mistake?” He drew back and frowned. “I don't think so.” He eyed her a moment, tilting his head. “You know, when Kessy and I, well, broke up, it was because we’d grown apart. I didn't want to admit it at the time, but it's been a few months now, and I see things more clearly. She was very young when we got together, and she changed so much in those three years; she grew up. We both did. I didn't want to see it then, but I do now.”

B’Elanna reached for his arm and squeezed. “I'm sorry,” she said, and she meant it. 

“But you and Tom, you've been friends for a long time, but you’ve barely had any time to explore this attraction between the two of you. You shouldn't let it end before it’s barely begun.”

She felt a lump in her throat, and swallowed hard. “Neelix, I…”

“Whatever he’s done, I’m sure he’s sorry. Why don't you give him the chance to make it up to you?”

“He hasn’t done anything, Neelix,” she said, turning back to the power grid.

“Is there something you’d like him to do? I’d be more than happy to tell him.”

She laughed to beat down a swell of misery. “No. Thank you, but no.”

“Hmm.” 

“That should do it,” she said, popping up to her feet and stretching her back. She rolled her neck and heard a loud crunching sound. She’d been huddled over and under and inside consoles all morning, and she was feeling distinctly cramped and seized. She needed a workout. She needed to move. “Try it now.” She stepped away from the cook station and Neelix moved in to take her place. He tested the burners and smiled.

“They work perfectly, B’Elanna. I knew you could fix it.” He looked at her knowingly, and she dropped back down to fit the access panel back in place. 

“Think about what I said.” 

B’Elanna avoided his soft, smiling concern and picked up her tool kit and headed for the far door. She needed to get to her office and put a closed door between herself and the rest of the world. She took the long way around, choosing a path that took her far away from any corridors that would link Tom’s quarters to the bridge and sickbay. She didn't want to accidentally run into him, not after Neelix’ helpful advice. He didn’t understand. His relationship with Kes wasn’t nearly the same thing as hers with Tom. 

A headache was starting to pound between her eyes. She’d lain awake again last night, running through her attraction to Tom Paris. She’d noticed him when he’d joined their Maquis cel four years ago. Tall, fair, far too thin. And beautiful, with shockingly pretty blue eyes. She’d known to stay away from him, of course, and even if she hadn’t, his self-pitying, caustic attitude and slimy attempt at being the ship’s resident lothario would have kept her at arm’s length. Full ship’s length. 

She’d thought she recognized him on the stairs when she and Harry had been held by the Ocampa, but put it down to a fever dream: a hallucination conjured by pain and illness. But he’d been as real as the nightmare of being flung seventy thousand light years into the Delta Quadrant. And when they’d landed on _Voyager_ she’d avoided him, as much as she could with them both on the senior staff. Aided by Seska’s poisonous whispers, he’d merely confirmed her opinion of him as an arrogant, opinionated jerk who only cared about himself. 

But gradually her opinion had changed. She’d watched him with Harry, and with the captain. She’d watched as Chakotay slowly came to trust him, and she had relied on him during the hell of the Vidiian mines. She literally wouldn't have survived without him. She remembered trying to listen to his words as he comforted her but being lost in those pretty eyes…

Had she always been physically attracted to him? Yes. She had to admit that. But how could those aliens, those _researchers_ have known? Was it some chemical scent that they had picked up on? Pheromones? Was there something in their DNA? Had they been manipulating them since Sakari IV? Or maybe only since Tom and Neelix had come up with the resort programme? Maybe they were behind that macrovirus that had infected the crew, because she’d loved him then, she was sure of that. 

She felt a scream pushing against her diaphragm, strangling her, forcing its way up her throat. She needed to get past this, get over this. Get over him. How much longer was it going to take?

 

** 

“Status, Mister Paris?” Chakotay asked. 

Tom’s head snapped up from where he was reviewing the data scrolling on his navigational console. “Umm… heading seven four one mark three seven, Commander. Warp six. Steady as she goes.”

“You’re sure about that, Tom?” Chakotay asked. 

Tom thought he caught a note of teasing in the other man’s voice, but he wasn’t sure. He swung his chair around and glanced at Chakotay. “Of course, sir.”

“Good. You seem a little distracted, Tom.” Chakotay was pulling a Janeway: he’d left his seat and had come down to the helm to talk quietly with Tom. The captain was in her ready room, doing mysterious _captain_ things, Tom supposed. Chakotay had stopped a little to Tom's right and was reviewing the navigational display. 

“That looks like an interesting cluster.” He gestured to a galactic cluster, three months out of their way. 

“I didn’t think you were much of an explorer, Commander,” Tom said. To him, the cluster looked standard: less than two hundred stars, all of them young, none apparently with planets. Of course, they’d have to be closer to determine that. But Tom didn’t really care. 

“Oh, I’m curious enough,” he replied. “How are you—” 

The ship suddenly shuddered, and Chakotay stumbled and grabbed for the conn. He crashed into Tom, bumping the younger man and almost sending them both to the deck. Janeway strode from her ready room, gripping the upper railing of the bridge. “Report!”

“We’ve dropped out of warp, Captain,” Tom said. He fought the urge to curse. 

Janeway hit her combadge. “Janeway to engineering, what happened?”

“I'm not sure, Captain. Give me a few minutes.” Tom could hear the stress in B’Elanna’s voice. He wanted to help her. He wanted to go to her and hold her and reassure her that he didn’t care if they ran on thrusters for the next hundred years, as long as she shared those years with him. _Voyager_ may have been going nowhere, but he was approaching thirty at high warp and he was done with dicking around. But he didn’t, of course. 

The captain and commander had both regained their seats and Lang, at ops, was rattling off an ever growing list of compromised systems. Tom sighed. It was just as well B’Elanna wasn’t talking to him. From the sounds of things, she was going to be busy for the next month.

 

***

B’Elanna held her breath, and cautiously reached out and tapped in the final few commands. “Okay everyone, here goes.”

The warp core came to life in a swirling mix of indigo, turquoise and white. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. She waited, and waited a little longer, before finally allowing the grin to split her face almost in half. 

“Life!” Ken Dalby pronounced. “We have life!” 

She laughed and hit her combadge. “Torres to Captain Janeway. Warp engines are back online.”

There was a muted cheer in engineering and B’Elanna laughed again.

“ _Wonderful,_ ” Janway replied. “ _I knew you could do it._ ”

“Well, let’s just take it easy for now. Don’t let the helm push it past—”

“ _Warp two point three?_ ” Tom suggested, and B’Elanna tensed. She caught both the reference and the sarcastic note in his voice. She would _not_ be dumping the core today! 

“Fine,” she answered, closing the link. 

 

***

Chakotay entered the mess, and paused just inside the door and looked around. It was crowded for early beta shift, but he spotted his target easily enough. He was seated near the viewport, the remains of his evening meal shunted to the side of the table, and a gameboard taking up his attention. Neither he nor his companion noticed Chakotay approach. 

“Walk with me, Tom.”

Tom glanced up from the board and stared at Chakotay. His usually placid expression was replaced by irritation and Tom sensed he was reigning in his temper. “Okaay…?” 

Chakotay turned on his heel and exited the mess, and Tom briefly thought of staying at the table. Harry’s raised eyebrow decided him, and he hurried to catch up. Chakotay was waiting for him just outside the door, and he took off down the corridor as soon as Tom was at his side.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked. 

Tom caught the edge of anger in the older man’s voice and his inner prick stood up and roared. “Playing durotta with Harry. Last time I checked it wasn’t a sanctionable offense. Sir.”

Chakotay flashed him an irritated glance. “You know what I mean.”

Tom’s own irritation spiked. What he absolutely didn’t need right now was Chakotay’s nose in his business. His and B’Elanna’s business. He stopped and folded his arms across his chest, resentment obvious in his tone of voice. “No, I really don’t,” he said.

Chakotay turned and looked Tom in the eye for a moment before he looked away and shook his head. “Don’t do this now, Tom. Not when you’ve finally earned my respect.”

Tom was thrown by that. He’d thought he’d won Chakotay’s respect well over a year ago. “Gee, Chakotay, and here I thought we were best buddies all this time.”

The older man sighed. “I didn't mean it that way,” he said, “and if I’ve offended you, I apologize. Can we walk?”

Tom’s arms dropped to his sides and he nodded. “Sure,” he said. 

“I want to talk to you about B’Elanna.” 

Tom sighed. _Here it comes,_ he thought.

“You two made quite the spectacle of yourselves the last couple of weeks.”

Tom bit his lip, shook his head. “Yeah, well, you can rest easy. The captain put an end to that.” 

“I noticed. So did everyone else.” 

“What do you want, Chakotay?” Tom’s patience was considerably thinner than it had been ten minutes ago. 

“B’Elanna is a very private person, deep down, and you've made her the subject of the entire crew’s speculation. First by...not leaving her alone, and now by not going near her. What I want, is to know what’s going on. I want to know what you think you’re doing with her.”

Tom stopped again and squinted at him. “You want to know what my intentions are toward B’Elanna?” He cracked a laugh. “Hell, right now I’d settle for her just talking to me. Or being in the same room with me without being ordered to.” He watched the other man’s jaw tense. “Believe me, Chakotay, if I had my way, there’d be no speculation. Everyone would be certain of how I feel about her.”

“So, what happened? I thought you two were happy together.”

“Yeah. Well, we were. Until I opened my mouth.” At Chakotay’s quizzical expression, Tom sighed. “We were talking about what the captain said, how we’d been...out of control.” _Shit,_ Tom thought, _this is uncomfortable._ “I made a stupid joke about those alien scientists and B’Elanna took me seriously.”

Chakotay shifted and fisted his hands on his hips. “A joke?”

“That maybe our, you know, her sudden attraction to me was...mind control. An experiment. Hormones from those scientists.”

Chakotay stared at him a moment then burst out with laughter! He clapped Tom on the shoulder, and doubled over with mirth. “Maybe,” he giggled, “you got a little brain damage when you were running out of oxygen.” He started guffawing again at his own joke. 

“Thanks,” Tom muttered. Like he hadn’t heard that a hundred times in the last three weeks.

Finally, Chakotay straightened and seemed to get control of himself. “Let me see what I can do,” he snickered. “Sometimes you just can’t help yourself, can you?” 

 

*

She’d been staring off into space when he appeared in her doorway, startling her.

“I was thinking of having some dinner and wondered if you’d like to share it with me,” he said. 

“I dunno, Chakotay, it may be more risk than I can handle right now.”

He smiled and walked into her office and leaned a hip against her desk. “I spoke with the captain. She says she had a talk with you and Tom, when those scientists were doing their experiments on us. She says she chewed you out.” He stared at her in that way he had, that almost demanded—softly, of course, gently, of course—that she fill the silence with an explanation. B’Elanna didn’t. “She also said she apologized to you after the staff meeting this morning.”

She busied herself with a pile of padds, ordering them and stacking them into two piles that, in truth, represented nothing. “Well,” B’Elanna finally said, “that wasn’t necessary.” 

Chakotay tilted his head. “Why not?”

“Because she was right. Because we were acting like…it doesn't matter now anyway.”

“Like teenagers?” he supplied. He reached and plucked a padd from her hands and gave it a glance before placing it out of reach on the other end of her desk. 

B’Elanna cringed. “You have to admit, I wasn’t acting like myself.”

“That’s true,” he agreed. “But maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”

“What do you mean?” She could feel the hair on the back of her neck rising. 

“Just that it may be a good thing for you to let go once in a while.”

She frowned. “I swear, Chakotay, if you say the word _Klingon_ …”

He smiled. “I just meant, we may be on this ship for a long time. Do you really want to close yourself off for a lifetime? I’ve watched you and Tom fight and flirt for the last two years. Don’t you think it’s time you admitted to yourself how you really feel about him?”

“Physician, heal thyself,” she said. “Why does everyone feel they can comment on my personal life?”

“Tom is a good man and a fine officer. He’s impulsive, and sometimes he’s a wiseass, but I don’t believe he would ever deliberately hurt you.”

She shook her head. “That’s not what this is about,” she said. 

“Then what is it about?”

She pressed her lips into a thin line and looked down at her desk, refusing to answer. “B’Elanna, trust yourself,” he said. 

“Do you mind if I handle this myself?” she snapped. 

“Not at all, if I thought you were handling it. It looks to me like you’re avoiding it.”

“I don’t know what you think you know—“ she began.

“I spoke with Tom. He cares deeply for you.”

“Does he?” She stood and gathered her padds. 

“Yes. This is hurting him.”

B’Elanna came around her desk on her way toward the door. She raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure _this_ isn’t hurting you more?” she asked.

“Tom hasn’t always been my favourite person, that’s true, but I think he’s sincere in his feelings for you.” 

She hugged the padds to her chest and huffed a breath. “And he’s told you what those are, has he? Because it’s all a little unclear to me.”

Chakotay stepped into her path and caught her eyes. The expression in his eyes was soft and warm and tempting. “Why don’t you want to believe that he loves you?”

She opened her mouth but found she had no reply, so she shrugged. “It’s complicated,” she said, finally. She glanced away.

“It’s only as complicated as you make it,” he replied.

 

*** 

“Try it now, B’Elanna,” Harry said. 

She keyed in the sequence to bring the panel back online and sparks shot into the air, followed by a thin trail of smoke. “ _ghay’cha’_!” B’Elanna cursed. Harry frowned and drew back. B’Elanna leaned her head against the wall of the Jefferies tube and fought the urge to pound the stupid panel into a million pieces. “I don’t understand,” she said. 

“Maybe you should take a break,” Harry suggested. “Grab some food? Take a nap?” 

“I'm fine,” she said shortly. “It's just...frustrating.”

“Yeah, you’re frustrated all right,” he said. 

She shot a glare at him wondering if he meant that comment to sound suggestive. “What do you mean by that?” she growled.

Harry backed up as much as he could in the tight confines of the Jefferies tube and smacked his head on a ladder strut. “Ow! Nothing,” he snapped back. “Just that it’s almost midnight and we’ve been here for seven hours already. I want food, a shower, and at least five hours of uninterrupted sleep. That’s all.”

B’Elanna glanced at her friend and felt instantly contrite. “I’m sorry, Harry.” She shifted and leaned her back against the wall. “It’s just irritating. We need the astrometrics lab. It could be the thing that gets us home before we’re all old and gray, and I can’t seem to figure out how to power it without blowing out _Voyager’s_ other essential systems.”

“Well,” Harry began, “maybe we’ll have to make do without a few things.”

B’Elanna laughed. “Like what? Sonic showers? Replicators? Environmental controls?”

“Sure,” Harry replied. “We’ll just all have to eat Neelix’ cooking for the rest of the journey. And if we turn down the heat, we’ll have to cuddle up to keep warm.”

Her head snapped up and she shot him a warning glare. “Don’t start.”

“What’s going on with you two?” he asked, shaking his head. 

“Nothing.”

“Yeah, well, that’s obvious,” he muttered. “Look, Maquis—”

“Stow it, Ensign.” She turned back to the panel and wrenched the gel pack loose. “Do me a favor, and hand me another of these, then go take a break. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“B’Elanna…” Harry stared at her a moment, then traded a healthy, clear gel pack for the cloudy one in B’Elanna’s hand. She felt his gaze on her, sensed his frustration with her. “Goodnight,” he finally said, and started down the ladder. 

 

** 

“Shouldn’t you be regenerating?”

“The astrometrics lab requires additional energy.” 

Seven said it so matter of factly that B’Elanna almost didn't call her on it. Almost. “I see,” she said. “So you're rerouting power from other locations, again?” B’Elanna had been chasing down power fluctuations in environmental control, waste reclamation, and related systems for the last forty-five minutes. She’d been almost ready to decide it was a problem with her favourite console itself, but Joe had confirmed her readings. 

Seven glanced at her, then turned back to her work. “They are minor adjustments and any fluctuations are only temporary. Primary systems will not be affected and may be improved.”

“Didn’t we just have this conversation? I could swear I lectured you on this a few days ago.” She wanted to hit her. Wanted, at least, to shake her until her perfect, upswept hair fell into her Borg enhanced eyes. B’Elanna closed her own eyes and breathed.

“There is no need for anger. I had—”

“No intention of causing a problem, I know,” B’Elanna snapped. Seven was cool and unaffected, as usual. It only spurred B’Elanna’s temper. 

“What,” she said shortly, “sorry isn't in the Borg vocabulary? You’re supposed to check with me before you touch the power systems. Remember?”

Seven stilled and glanced at her. “You were unavailable and I believed this repair was pivotal if we want to secure an uninterrupted power supply for astrometrics. I consulted with Ensign Vorik and he gave his approval of my plan. It should be logged in the repair schedule.”

It would be logged in the repair schedule if Vorik had assigned her the repair. But B’Elanna hadn’t really had a lot of time in the last three days to peruse schedules. They’d been more _Maquis_ than _Starfleet_ with regards to repairs during this crisis, everyone pitching in doing what needed to be done without wasting a lot of time discussing work assignments. 

B’Elanna sighed and unclenched her jaw. “You’re right. I’m...sorry I snapped at you.” 

“Lieutenant?” Seven was staring at her.

B’Elanna closed her eyes, shook her head. She turned to face the other woman. Seven’s expression was as perplexed as she’d ever seen it. “You did what you were supposed to do. I apologize for assuming otherwise. I guess I’m just tired and a little on edge.”

Seven nodded. “Of course. I am sorry for the confusion.”

“Well,” B’Elanna said curtly, “you’re going to prove how sorry you are by helping me fix it.”

“May I make an inquiry, Lieutenant?” Seven asked.

B’Elanna’s lips quirked. “If you mean, can you ask me a question, go ahead.”

“Have you concluded your experiment with Lieutenant Paris?”

B’Elanna whipped her head around and glared. Seven was staring placidly back at her, one eyebrow slightly raised in question. “Experiment?” There was a note of warning in her voice that Seven appeared to miss.

“You were gathering scientific data, were you not? On human-Klingon mating practices.” B’Elanna continued to stare at her. “I extrapolated that as a human-Klingon hybrid, you were interested in your parents’ courtship and your own conception—”

“What the hell are you talking about?” B’Elanna shouted, cutting her off. 

“Or, perhaps,” Seven continued, “you were merely studying Lieutenant Paris’ interactions with members of the opposite sex. I could help you with your data.”

“You could _what_?” B’Elanna’s eyebrows shot to her hairline.

“I have observed him with Captain Janeway, as well as yourself and a number of female crew members. He appears to treat you and the captain differently from the others, though not the same. Indeed, his cheeks and ears flush with increased blood flow when he is near you, and his pupils dilate, conversely, when he is in the presence of the captain, he appears to stand straighter and—“

“Why are you observing Tom so closely?” B’Elanna’s voice had all the warmth of the deck plating under their feet.

“After the doctor removed most of my Borg implants and reasserted my humanity, I was verbally attacked by a member of the species called the Catatti.”

B’Elanna stiffened at the name. 

“Lieutenant Paris was with me at the time. He placed himself between me and my assailant, and offered to help me adjust to life onboard _Voyager_. As he has been spending most of his time either on duty, or with you in private quarters since then, I thought observing his behaviour, rather than requesting specific information, would be most beneficial to my study of human relations.”

“You just stay away from him!”

Seven’s elegant (non enhanced) eyebrow arched daintily. “He is a member of the crew; I would never deliberately injure him.”

“Stay away from him anyway,” B’Elanna snarled. 

Seven tilted her head, obviously observing and trying to understand B’Elanna’s sudden fit of temper. “Does this mean you are not finished with your experiment? You are still gathering data?”

“This means that what I choose to do, or not do, with Tom Paris is none of your business! And I have no intention of discussing it with you.”

“I see,” Seven said. “Then you will not require my notes?”

B’Elanna grunted with frustration. “No! I...yes.” She paused. “Give them to me,” she demanded.

Seven nodded. “I will send them to your personal data link when we are done here.”

 

**

B’Elanna dragged herself back to her quarters and debated going straight to bed, but she was grimy and sweaty, and gel pack goo had dried and crusted between her fingers and under her nails. She needed to be clean. She removed her combadge and rank bar, then shoved her clothing into the ‘fresher, thankful when it kicked on and started its cycle. She held her breath as she stepped into the sonic shower and hit the controls. There was a soft hum, and then pulsing waves of warm air began to gently lift the layer of grease and sweat and muck from her body. She sighed in relief. 

It felt so good to be clean. Though it was tempting to linger, B’Elanna shut off the shower so she wouldn’t waste the power. She pulled on her red pajamas and wrapped herself in her blue ‘fleet robe, then crossed to her replicator, and crossed her fingers and ordered a mug of tea. As she turned toward her couch, she noticed her message light blinking. She shouldn’t have been surprised. Borg efficiency in action. She sat and accepted the message, but waited a moment before looking at the screen, taking a cautious sip of her hot tea.

There were notes about the various species aboard _Voyager_ , complete with species numbers. A note outlining what methods Seven would undertake in her study and why she chose those methods. B’Elanna skipped ahead. 

_Stardate 51052.8_

_0657 hours: Lieutenant Paris entered the messhall and waited in the entry for three point seven seconds. He appeared to scan the room, taking note of the occupants. He activated his combadge and spoke briefly, but I was not close enough to hear to whom he addressed his hail. His facial expression expressed dissatisfaction with his conversation and he left the messhall immediately._

_Stardate 51103.8_

_1628 hours: Lieutenant Paris was observed exiting holodeck two with Ensigns Culhane and Jenkins. Mister Culhane left immediately, but Ensign Jenkins stood with the lieutenant and conversed for three minutes twenty nine seconds, during which time she was observed to touch Lieutenant Paris’ right hand once, his left bicep twice, and his left, lower diaphragm twice. Lieutenant Paris retreated from the ensign, moving backwards along the corridor toward the turbolift. His posture was rigid and, while he smiled, his jaw appeared clenched and set. I must conclude that he did not welcome the physical contact._

So, Jenkins was still trying, B’Elanna thought. She felt the urge to growl. She felt the urge to track her down and tell her to lay off! Tell her to back off! 

_1813 hours: Lieutenant Paris and Ensign Kim, were observed sharing a table in the messhall. While Ensign Kim appeared to be engaged in animated conversation, Lieutenant Paris did not appear to be listening, and responded to Ensign Kim using single words and short phrases. His attention appeared to be focused on solely on Lieutenant Torres, who was seated at another table with Lieutenants Carey and Nicoletti, and Ensign Vorik. I could not ascertain the subject of their conversation, though I must conclude they were discussing engineering matters._

_Note: Lieutenant Paris’ inattention notwithstanding, Ensign Kim appears to be a lively and engaging conversationalist. Since Commander Chakotay has informed me that my conversational skills are underdeveloped, I must endeavor to speak with Ensign Kim more often._

B’Elanna skipped ahead. 

_Stardate 51153.2_

_Commander Chakotay is overdue to meet with the ship after taking out a shuttlecraft for ‘personal time’._

B’Elanna caught her breath. She remembered. Chakotay had been late for their rendezvous, his shuttle nowhere on sensors. It had been the day following the Day of Honor, the day after she’d told Tom that she loved him and he’d...not told her the same. Chakotay was only supposed to be gone for a few hours, but as the days went by with no word from him, and with no sign from Tom that he shared her romantic feelings, with Tom obviously more than eager to leave the ship to search for Chakotay so he could get away from her, she’d had to come to the realization that he didn’t share her feelings. That he didn’t love her. It had hurt, so she’d decided to pretend that it simply hadn’t happened. No confession, no awkward three days of worry and longing and embarrassment. Then he’d kissed her. Oh, how he’d kissed her… 

She skipped back to the first entry.

_Stardate 51036.8_

_Lieutenant Paris watched Lieutenant Torres closely as we attempted to open the transwarp conduit. I thought perhaps he was not clear on his instructions, however when Lieutenant Torres attempted to give him direction he was quick to declare his understanding of what was required of him. I believe he will be an efficient and knowledgeable teammate and I look forward to collaborating with him in future endeavours._

Yeah, B’Elanna thought, I just bet you do. She read on.

_When Lieutenant Paris refused Lieutenant Torres’ order to vacate engineering before she ‘dumped the core’ I believed that he was merely concerned for her safety as warp plasma vented into the room. However, since he continued to watch her closely even after they had evacuated to the corridor, I must conclude that his concern for her well being goes farther than I had originally surmised. Therefore, in an attempt to understand his behaviour, and to ascertain if it could serve as an example to myself in caring for my ‘fellow man’, I have decided to concentrate my observations on their interaction._

_Stardate 51198.4_

_While enhancing the astrometric sensors with Ensign Kim I injured my right palm. I found the sight of my own blood unnerving. Ensign Kim escorted me to sickbay where Lieutenant Paris treated my wound and cautioned me to be more careful with my person since I can no longer spontaneously repair my epidermis. While I found his ‘bedside manner’ somewhat flippant, he proved to be a competent medic and I will endeavour to follow his advice in the future._

_Stardate 51240.7_

_While I have not personally observed them interacting in any manner that was outwardly sexual, it has come to my attention that some members of the crew have witnessed Lieutenants Paris and Torres in a sexual ‘clinch’ in various locations around the ship._

B’Elanna sucked in a breath. She wasn’t sure what she expected to discover reading Seven’s notes, but this wasn’t helping. So Tom watched her, she knew that. And they had...had been less than discreet all over the ship, she knew that, too. 

_Stardate 51253.9_

_Though rumor is an information dissemination device that is new to me, I have quickly come to rely on it as a way to gather information that I cannot obtain first hand. According to the ship’s ‘grape vine’, Lieutenants Paris and Torres have apparently ceased their romantic involvement. If this is fact, neither appears to be happy with the situation which raises the question of why they decided to end their affiliation._

B’Elanna looked away. She was starting to wonder herself. 

_Lieutenant Paris appears sullen and withdrawn, while I have heard Lieutenant Torres described as ‘waspish’. Upon further research, I must conclude that this word describes her attitude of late ‘to a T’._

_Note: I must remember to transcribe these colloquialisms into my report for the Doctor as proof that I am endeavouring to ‘loosen up’ my speech._

Seven was planning to talk to the doctor? About her and Tom. That was absolutely NOT going to happen!

 

***** 

B’Elanna tracked her down in the astrometrics lab early the next morning. “Don’t you ever sleep?” she asked.

Seven poked her head out from under a console and arched an elegant eyebrow. “No,” she said. “I regenerate daily in my alcove. However, in an emergency I can function for several days without regenerating, though my motor reflex and cognitive abilities will become compromised over time.”

B’Elanna blinked at her. 

Seven gamely continued. “Correct me if I am wrong, Lieutenant, but I believe that, much like a Vulcan, your Klingon physiology allows you to also go several days without sleep—”

B’Elanna help up her hand, palm out, to cut off the flow of words (dare she describe them as gibberish?) coming from the former Borg. “All I meant was, after last night you’re up and at it pretty early.”

“Oh.” Seven looked like she was attempting to process information that had her stumped. “ _Up and at it_ ,” she repeated. “I was attempting to ‘make chit-chat’. Apparently I need more practice. I will enquire with the doctor—”

“That’s actually why I’m here,” B’Elanna stated, cutting her off again. She was rewarded with _the eyebrow_. 

“You are volunteering to teach me the art of superfluous conversation?” Seven guessed.

B’Elanna snorted. “No.” Really, that seemed more a job for Tom.

“Did you read the notes I sent to you on my study of Lieutenant Paris’ social interactions?” Seven asked, as if she’d read B’Elanna’s mind. 

“Yes. Thank you. They were...informative.”

“I sense that you are feeling combative, Lieutenant .”

“I’m not feeling _combative_ , Seven,” B’Elanna denied.

“I feel I should inform you that I have been observing several people, not merely Lieutenant Paris, since my humanity was restored by the Doctor. He, the Doctor,” Seven clarified, “felt that I would benefit from following the example of several varied members of the crew in their interactions both while on duty and during ‘down time’. Since I am human, I have limited myself to observing only humans. I selected a representative sample of males and females, Maquis and Starfleet.”

“Of course you did,” B’Elanna muttered. 

“The Starfleet crew were further broken down into officers and enlisted personnel. I had thought to introduce subcategories for department. For example, I surmised that due to job frustration, the staff in engineering may use more profanity or expletives than those assigned to health sciences.”

“Frustration?”

“However, owing to the relatively small sample size—”

“Seven, please.” Third time’s the charm, B’Elanna thought. She sighed. “About the Doctor. You said in your notes that you were going to write a report for him, about your observations?” She had an edge to her voice and raised an eyebrow, her indignation returning. 

“About my use of colloquialisms, yeah.”

Both of B’Elanna’s eyebrows shot up at that! She chuckled at the absurdity of it. “ _Yes_ will do better, I think,” she suggested. 

“I see.”

“Look,” B’Elanna huffed, “I hope you’re not planning to include me and Tom in that report. Because if I hear that you’ve said anything about us to anyone…”

“The report will include my progress in the use of less formal modes of speech. If I were to reference you or Lieutenant Paris, it would merely be to record the source of one or more idioms which I—“

“Okay. Good.” B’Elanna nodded. “That’s okay, then.” She turned to go but Seven stopped her.

“Lieutenant?”

“Yes?”

“You have a rather annoying habit of interrupting people when they are speaking to you. May I suggest that allowing the other person to finish their thought might improve your interactions with your staff and other members of the crew. Indeed, while interrupting someone may be perceived as excitement or impatience on your part, most people wo—”

“Seven!” B’Elanna shouted, “I really have to—”

“Would view it as rudeness. Is this trait derived from Klingon custom, or some genetic component particular to yourself?”

B’Elanna had crossed her arms over her chest and was actively restraining herself from tapping her toe. Her lips were compressed into a thin line. “Are you finished?” she asked. 

“Yea—yes,” Seven said. 

“I’m leaving. I’ll send someone up later to coordinate with you about the lab.” And with that she turned on her heel and walked out.

 

**

Tom entered main engineering and paused, glancing around. She wasn’t in sight, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything; she could be under a console, or on the upper deck, or in her office. The possibilities were almost limitless. He spied Sue Nicoletti but wasn’t eager for a replay of her obvious resentment. The wagons had circled, leaving him on the outside. Ah, Joe Carey was working at a console on the other side of the room. Tom quickly skirted the core and called to him. 

“Joe, hi.” 

Carey looked up and stared at him. “Tom,” he acknowledged. 

Tom offered him a little smile, but neither man was buying it. “Hi. I was wondering—”

“She’s in her office.” Joe cut him off. “You’re not about to make this worse, are you, Tom?”

Tom sighed. “I really don’t see how I can,” he answered truthfully. 

“You want some free advice from a happily married man?”

Tom was about to tell him what he could do with his advice, but he folded his arms across his chest and breathed instead. 

“Tell her the truth. Every time. Women know when you’re lying.”

Tom was taken aback by that. “I’ve never lied to her. What the hell would I lie to her about?”

Carey shrugged. “You tell me.”

Tom shook his head and turned toward B’Elanna’s office. It didn’t surprise him that everyone knew about their relationship and that it was now in trouble, what surprised him was that people thought they could have an opinion about it. Carey called him back. “And, Tom?”

“Yeah?”

“Keep it simple.”

Tom nodded, grateful that Joe had left off the ‘stupid’. And now all he could think about was kissing her. The door was open and he poked his head in, then stepped into the room. B’Elanna was seated at her desk, absorbed in a padd. “Hi,” he said. 

She looked up, and Tom caught the fleeting look of surprise and panic in her eyes before she looked away. He didn’t miss the way she drew back from him, either.

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in sickbay?” Her voice held that dismissive tone from back when they’d first been stranded in the Delta Quadrant. She stood and busied herself with her tool kit. 

“I’m headed there,” he said. She knew his schedule. _Likely to better avoid me,_ he thought.

She seemed to forget herself for a moment and arched an eyebrow. “Taking the long way around?” Was that a teasing note in her voice?

“B’Elanna, I know you’re busy but we really need to talk about this.” _Shit._ He realized, too late, that he’d given her an out. “Or, we don’t have to talk, we can just…” _Sit together and stare at the walls?_ “Have dinner with me. You have to eat, right?”

She didn’t say anything. Of course, that meant she hadn’t said no but he suspected she wasn’t going to say yes. “Look, forget about dinner, have lunch with me. In the messhall. Harry can even be there.” 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said. She stood and took a step toward the door, but Tom moved to block her way. He reached for her and ran his palms along her upper arms. 

“I miss you,” he said. There was emotion in his voice, and his jaw was tense with frustration.

B’Elanna stepped back and brought up her hands to ward him off. “You miss me in your bed,” she said, her own voice strained and uncertain. “I don’t have time for this.”

“B’Elanna—”

She looked away and smacked her commbadge. “Torres to Vorik.”

“Vorik here.” His reply was instantaneous, of course. 

“Report to my office.” 

Tom frowned. “Oh come on! You’re hiding behind Vorik, now?”

B’Elanna’s head snapped around and she opened her mouth to reply when Vorik appeared in her doorway. Did he hang around all day, literally at her beck and call? 

“You wanted me, Lieutenant?”

Tom snorted. She did not _want_ Vorik, he was sure of that, but his immediate appearance in her office made Tom wonder if Vorik still wanted her. Tom’s frown turned into a glare. He must have been right outside her door. 

“Yes. I’m ready to try that power conversion we talked about.”

Vorik raised an eyebrow and looked as confused as a Vulcan was able. “But, Lieutenant, I thought you said—”

“I changed my mind! Let’s get started.” And with that she picked up her tool case and marched out of her office leaving Tom standing in an empty room feeling frustrated and forgotten.

 

***

Tom was brooding. He wasn’t quite sulking, but he was close. And he hated it. It used to be that only his father could provoke this brand of sorry-assed navel gazing in him, but this time it was entirely B’Elanna. His relationship with B’Elanna. His _lack of relationship_ with B’Elanna. 

He had to do something, but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out how to counter her determined resistance. She loved him, but was refusing to see him. They’d been friends first, but she was refusing to talk to him. They had a good time together, and the sex was amazing, but she was refusing— 

He got up from his couch and paced. Nothing in his past experience had prepared him for her particular brand of denial, and nothing in his, albeit limited, bag of tricks was proving useful. He’d already spent the last six months wooing her, what more could he do? Track her down in a Jefferies tube and remind her of just how great they were together? He had a sudden flash of memory of the last time he’d tracked her to a Jefferies tube, and cringed. Yeah, repeating that performance would put her mind at ease. Right. 

He started to raise his hand to his combadge when his door chime sounded and he felt a rush of hope. “Come!” he called. His face fell. 

“Try to contain your joy at seeing me,” Harry said.

Tom looked chagrined. “Sorry. Come in, sit down.” He waved a hand at his couch. “What can I do for you?”

“What did Commander Chakotay want yesterday?” he asked, plopping down in his usual spot. 

Tom’s mouth twisted into a petulant frown. “Nothing.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “That looked like a whole lotta nothing to me.” He stared at Tom for a few moments, assessing him. “You know what you need?” he asked.

 _A time machine and a muzzle?_ Tom thought.

“Exercize!” Harry declared. “Clear out the cobwebs. Holodeck two is free right now and I have almost an hour before I’m meeting Seven.”

“Oh, really?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “We’re still working on the astrometrics lab.”

“Okay, Harry,” Tom teased, “but you know, with me and B’Elanna, it started with trying to break the warp barrier.” _And look at how that turned out._ Shit. He snapped his mouth closed and headed out the door, avoiding Harry’s questioning look. Harry had to doubletime it to keep up. 

“Uh huh. So, we’re not dressed for velocity,” Harry gestured to his uniform, “but we could probably manage ping pong. Or basketball.”

“I have a better idea,” Tom said when they arrived outside the holodeck. He checked to make sure it was empty then made his request. “Computer, open program Paris: Beta Omega Rou Gamma.”

The doors opened to reveal _Voyager’s_ bridge, and Harry frowned as he stepped inside. “You don’t get enough of this when you’re on duty?” he griped. 

“You have so much energy, I figured you could burn some off at the helm.”

“This is the last time I volunteer to cheer you up,” Harry groused. 

“C’mon, Harry, you could use the practise and you know it.” Tom sat in the captain’s chair and gestured toward the conn with an expansive wave of his hand. 

“Is this the programme you use for evaluations?” 

“One of them,” Tom replied cryptically. 

“Status, Ensign?” Tom called in his best command voice. He noticed Harry sit up a little straighter. Harry glanced at the display. “Heading seven seven seven, mark one one.” Harry scowled and turned in his seat. “Really, Tom?”

“I swear, Harry, I designed this program a year ago. You know, ‘seven come eleven’. Craps?”

Harry sighed and turned back to his panel display. “Proceeding at warp five.”

“Steady as she goes, Ensign,” Tom replied. Stars streaked past, the bridge hummed. The holocharacters at ops and engineering and security were all industriously busy with their stations. 

“Something happens eventually, right, Tom?” Harry complained.

“Something’s happening as we speak, ensign. Look sharp!”

Suddenly, the ship shuddered and alarms sounded. 

“Captain,” the holo-lieutenant at Harry’s ops post called. “I’m reading a spacial anomaly forming.”

“Can you clarify that?” Tom asked.

“A ship is coming through the rift,” Harry interrupted. “I’m reading thousands of life forms. Wait...mass is ninety million metric tons, length, three kilometres—” He twisted his neck to glare at Tom, who smiled grimly back. 

A Borg cube suddenly appeared on their viewscreen, and Tom called for red alert. Harry sighed dramatically. “I’m reading two Borg cubes, no make that three. Twelve.” 

To no one’s surprise, the bridge suddenly filled with the monotonous drone of thousands of voices speaking as one. : _We are the Borg. Existence, as you know it, is over. We will add your biological and technological distinctiveness to our own. Resistance is futile._ :

Harry smacked the console with his palms and bounced his hands in the air in an ‘I give up’ gesture. He spun his chair to face his friend. “Computer, freeze programme. What the hell, Tom?” 

“Kobayashi Maru, Harry. Are you going to go down fighting? Or give up?”

“I could ask you the same question.” He raised an eyebrow. At Tom’s confused expression, he elaborated. “B’Elanna. That’s what all this is about, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Tom hedged. 

“You know exactly what I mean. You chase her for months, you finally catch her, then…? What happened?”

“I don’t know! One minute we were all over each other—”

“No kidding,” Harry muttered.

“And the next she was...over me.” Tom dragged his fingers through his hair, making it stand on end. “It’s like she’s done. She doesn’t want me anymore.”

“Do you honestly think she would let it get as far as it did if she didn’t want you?” Harry looked at him like he was an idiot.

“That’s what I thought. I mean, you know how she is. She didn’t even date anybody until…” A few weeks ago. If she’d just been curious about the sex, surely she’d have _experimented_ with Tom months ago. Sakari IV flashed through his mind and he scowled. “She has this crazy idea that our whole relationship is some science experiment by those aliens. That how we feel about each other isn’t real.”

Harry shook his head. “Where would she get an idea like that? You’ve been flirting with her for months, almost begging her to go out with you.”

“Maybe…” Tom hedged. “Maybe she has a point.” 

Harry raised an eyebrow. 

“Do you remember when I told you what the Captain said to us?”

“About using better judgment? How could I forget?” Harry looked thoughtful. “And you said you weren’t sure if you could tone it down?”

Tom nodded. “I mean, maybe B’Elanna’s right. I can’t get her out of my head, Harry. I can’t stop wanting her. Maybe those scientists really did do something to us.”

“That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard! The doc removed all the DNA tags. Besides, everyone on _Voyager_ knows you’re crazy about her.”

Tom felt a sudden tingling in his scalp, and he jerked his head up and pinned Harry with a stare. “What do you mean by that?” he demanded.

Harry shrugged. “You weren’t exactly circumspect. Asking her out all the time, hanging around engineering, volunteering to help her with projects. It’s not exactly news: our chief helmsman is hopelessly in love with our chief engineer.”

Tom slumped in his seat. “Is it?” he asked. 

“News?” Harry’s confusion was obvious.

“Hopeless, Harry. It feels... hopeless.”

Harry shook his head and sighed. “So, what happened? What made her think that you’re being controlled by those aliens?”

“I blew it,” Tom answered. 

Harry raised an eyebrow at the bold statement and was about to quiz Tom on it when when his mouth dropped open in sudden understanding. “Your dinner the other night. You screwed it up, didn’t you? That explains how you were acting the next morning.” Harry was nodding, secure in his assumption that Tom had somehow managed to torpedo what had looked to him to be a pretty fine beginning to the evening. “Tell me what you did.”

Tom dipped his head, his cheeks reddening in sudden embarrassment. “I might have...suggested…”

“That aliens made you do it? Wow.” Harry was wide-eyed with wonder.

“It was a joke!” Tom exclaimed, feeling the need to defend himself. “We were joking around. I thought we were, you know, flirting like we usually do.”

“Interesting technique,” Harry noted. “So, make it up to her. Tell her you’re sorry, and you were just kidding, and you love her.” 

Tom looked away and suddenly found the toes of his boots fascinating.

“You haven’t!” Harry’s tone held equal measure shock and accusation. “I don’t believe this! You haven’t told her you love her?” Harry just shook his head at Tom’s hangdog expression. “How could you let this happen?”

“I don’t know!” Tom gave in to the urge to pace. “It just all happened so suddenly. I had this plan, you know? We’d go on a few romantic dates. I’d get to kiss her good night. Maybe, at some point she’d invite me into her quarters. And then…”

“And then?”

“She jumped the gun, Harry. She blindsided me! She wouldn’t say yes to a proper date, then suddenly she’s in love with me. I wasn’t expecting it.”

“And you didn’t say it back,” Harry guessed.

Tom looked pained; he glanced away. “It’s...not that easy, Harry.”

“But you do love her?”

Tom flopped back into the captain's chair. He closed his eyes and let his head rest on the back of the seat. Harry sighed. “Remember when you came to my quarters a couple of years ago and said you were in love with Kes?”

Tom scowled. “Yeah.”

“Were you?” Harry raised an eyebrow. 

“Of course not!” Tom denied. He stood and started to prowl again. Five paces to the conn, seven to the security station, three paces before he had to either turn around or call for an arch and head out the holodeck doors. “It was just a...silly crush. It didn't mean anything, Harry.” 

“But you said you were.” Harry had dug in now and was pursuing his line of thought like a terrier after a rat. “B’Elanna does mean something to you, right?”

“Of course. You have no idea.” He was gripping the railing along the upper deck, his knuckles white with the strain. 

“I’m guessing that she has no idea, either if you didn’t tell her how you feel!” Harry shook his head. “You're one sorry son of a bitch, you know that, right? I know you like to kid me about being young, and pretend that you know all these moves where women are concerned, but consider this: of the two of us, I’m the guy who left the fiancée behind in the Alpha Quadrant.”

Tom paced again. He gripped his hands into tight fists. Released. Grip. Release. “I don’t know. I’ve always been, you know, pretty smooth with women. It’s usually easy, but…” he shook his head and plopped back down into the Captain’s chair.

“But B’Elanna’s not just any woman,” Harry murmured. 

“I tried. I went to engineering this morning and told her how much I miss her.”

“I miss the Vulcan mocha at Cosimo’s back in San Francisco. I miss my mom’s Sunday roast. I _love_ Libby. And I miss her, but the love part comes first.”

Tom raised an eyebrow but decided not to mention Marayna, that alien they thought was a hologram. Or Jenny Delaney. 

“Repeat after me, I love you, B’Elanna. Or, if you want to mix it up a little, there’s always, B’Elanna, I’m in love with you. Either one will work to get your point across.”

Tom scowled and rolled his eyes. 

“I’m serious. C’mon, it gets easier the more you practice.” He stared pointedly at Tom until the other man sighed and opened his mouth. 

“I…” 

Harry raised an eyebrow and made a little ‘come on’ gesture with his hands. 

“I…” _love you. B’Elanna._ Tom mouthed the words. 

Harry sent him a small smile of encouragement and nodded. “Now say it out loud.”

Tom shot from the chair and raised his hands, palm out. “Thanks, Harry. I think I’ve got it.” He strode toward the holodeck doors but stopped and turned just before they opened. “Really, thanks.”

Harry nodded. “Don’t blow it, Mister Smooth.”

 

**

Tom placed his toothbrush on its spot on the shelf then cupped his hands under the stream of warm water and splashed his face. He stared at himself in the mirror: hair sticking up, chin dripping, dark bags under his bloodshot eyes a testament to his lack of sleep the last few nights. He sighed. He was real romantic hero material. 

He scowled. “Just say it,” he advised his mirror self. “Just once.”

He filled his lungs with air. “I...love you,” he said tentatively. He blew out the rest of the breath and tried again. “I love you.” That was better. He rewarded himself with a little smile. “B’Elanna, I’m in love with you.” It came out on a sigh.

He lifted his hand to his combadge and paused. She was busy, he didn’t need the computer to tell him that. He’d tell her tomorrow. 

 

**

Her sheets smelled of him. She’d meant to put them in the ‘fresher this morning—had meant to do that for the last three mornings—but she’d forgotten. Again.

It had been hard to say no to him today, hard to not fling herself into his arms, to not rip his clothes from his back. As soon as he’d stepped into her office she’d caught his scent and it seemed to follow her all day like a balloon on a string. 

As had Vorik. 

She’d paid for her restraint with Tom through Vorik’s determined presence. He’d glued himself to her side and assisted her with everything from a variation in the plasma manifold readings, to a check of the drivercoil assembly. And he’d been taking lessons from someone, Chell, perhaps, or maybe Chapman, because he’d kept up an irritating stream of decidedly un-Vulkan-like senseless chatter. She’d eventually ordered him to assist Seven with integrating Borg technology into the astrometrics upgrade, with the justification that the more people who understood the systems, the less time she would have to spend rubbing elbows with Seven. Besides, she figured, they could practice their _superfluous conversation_ skills on each other. 

She missed Tom, and the very worst part of this whole mess was, even if they decided to end their romance, they could never go back to the way it was before. Their friendship was dead. 

It had only lasted two weeks, but she missed him. She missed his company, she missed his humour, she missed him in her bed. She missed the soft, loving warmth in his eyes when he looked at her. She missed his kisses and the way he touched her in the dark. If those alien scientists really had manipulated them into falling in love, she should be thanking them instead of rebelling against it. 

She fought the urge to go to him. Instead, she rolled onto her stomach and hugged her pillow tightly and willed herself to sleep, but knew it would be near impossible. She wanted him here, wanted him between her thighs. She felt her body flush just at the thought, felt herself start to _tingle_. She balled her hand into a fist and kept it above the blankets. If she was going to deny him, she was going to _deny_ herself.

 

***

In his dream, he was stalking her, hunting her through the maze of tunnels and caverns on Sakari IV. He moved slowly but steadily forward. There was no hurry; he knew where she was and where she would end up. He could smell her scent, tantalizingly close, a trail he followed. His palmlight lit the corridor, throwing the jagged face of the rock walls into sharp relief, then drowning them in thick shadow as he passed by. She was there, just ahead of him, he was certain of it. 

He remembered the feel of her slim, strong body against his own, remembered the taste of her. He could remember with exquisite detail, the way her flesh gave, then broke, as he bit into her cheek, the taste of her hot blood as it hit his tongue. Her gasp and mewl of arousal as he kissed her throat, her jaw, her mouth. Swallowing her breath, breathing her in, her breasts in his hands, her silky skin against his own. He was Klingon, and she was his mate!

He woke gasping, hard and sweating and aching for her. 

 

*****

“Tom!”

He glanced up from the report he was reviewing and there she was, standing before him in the open doors of the turbolift, as if his yearning had brought her to life. She was staring at him, obviously rattled, her eyes wide with surprise. As if he was the last person she expected to see. 

She looked prim and proper, the epitome of the buttoned-down Starfleet officer. He knew she wasn’t. He wanted to unbutton her. He wanted to muss her hair and smear her lipstick and wrinkle the ‘fleet uniform that contained her. Constrained her. 

Joe’s words flashed in his mind: keep it simple, stupid. 

He took a step toward her, dropping the padd as his hand shot forward and grabbed a fistful of her jacket and jerked her toward him. His other hand slid around her back to anchor her to his chest. He let go of her uniform and threaded his fingers through her hair. He had time to register the shock and excitement on her face, the desire, before he slammed his mouth onto hers. Her arms went around his neck, her fingers gripping the back of his head and she melted against him, all heat and breath and fire. Her lips parted under his and he couldn’t get enough of her. He kissed her until he had to tear his mouth away to gulp a breath. 

“B’Elanna,” he whispered against her hair. 

She surged up on her toes, leaning into him, pushing him against the rear wall of the lift, and he stumbled and fell backwards, his shoulders hitting the wall. Her hands fisted in his hair as she dragged his head down, and kissed him again, her teeth sinking into his lower lip. He felt a surge of lust slam into him, and slid one hand onto her ass while the other cupped her breast and squeezed. 

:Please state destination: the ‘lift computer prompted. 

“Halt!” B’Elanna gasped, and for a moment Tom thought she was talking to him. He froze, his thumb pressed against her nipple, his nose buried in her shoulder. Then she pulled back a bit and she was staring into his eyes, and hers were like melted chocolate, warm and soft, with a rich sweetness. 

_Honest to God,_ he thought, _I could drown in them. I could drown in her._

“Computer, halt turbolift,” she said, still staring into his eyes. She grinned suddenly, pulled the fastener on his jacket and shoved it open. She tugged his shirt from the waist of his slacks and ran her hands along his skin. His stomach muscles contracted. “I was wrong,” she said simply. “I was so wrong.” 

Tom, not being one to let a little confusion or surprise interfere with his good fortune, cupped her face and kissed her again. Her hands slid around his back, her fingertips sparking shivers on his skin. He kissed her nose, between her brows, followed her ridges up to her hairline. He drew back again and stared at her. “I think this is the only place on the ship we haven’t fooled around,” he teased.

She put a little space between them, and pulled the fastener on her own jacket. It slid off her arms to fall at her feet. He shoved up her shirt and reached for her again, running a hand up her ribs to cup her breast. He dipped his head and scraped his teeth over her nipple, and she bucked against him. She wove her fingers in his hair and tugged his head up to kiss him again. He broke free, kissing along her jaw and down her throat, his lips hovering over her pulsepoint. “B’Elanna,” he breathed. 

Her hands were on his shoulders, and she ran her mouth along his jaw, scraping her teeth down to his chin, then kissing him again. He lifted her and her legs went around his waist as he turned them so her back was to the ‘lift wall. She pulled him closer. He was lost in her, couldn’t get enough if her. She sucked his bottom lip into her mouth and bit down, and Tom tasted blood, and he almost lost it right then as a spasm of pain and pleasure rippled through him.

He pulled his head back, his breath coming in harsh, rasping gasps. She pushed against his chest, wiggling in his arms, and he lowered her feet to the floor of the ‘lift. She quickly toed off her boots even as she worked the fastener on her pants. She shoved them down her legs and stepped out of them, her hands going to his uniform jacket, pulling it off his shoulders and down his arms. “Off!” she said. He helped her tugg his shirt over his head, followed quickly by his undershirt. 

Then, there was just the silky warmth of her skin against his chest, the softness of her breasts, the pebbled hardness of her nipples. He kissed her again as her hands dropped to the waistband of his slacks and freed him. 

“Now,” she breathed. “Now, Tom.” 

He picked her up again and pressed her against the wall. Her legs came around his waist and pulled him close, her feet locking against his lower back. He slid into her in one long, smooth stroke that felt so good he wanted to cry. Her breath hitched, and she tightened around him and started to shake. As her orgasm washed over her, she dug her fingernails into his shoulders, and he clenched his jaw and hung on, focusing on each breath. She was amazing, he thought, unbelievable, perfect, stunning. 

She was everything.

When she sagged against him, he adjusted his grip on her and kissed her hard, then he started to move. She was making little whining sounds, little high-pitched needy gasps, and her hands were scrabbling over his back and shoulders, her fingernails biting into his flesh. One hand slid down his back and grabbed his butt, anchoring him. “More, Tom,” she breathed. So he pounded into her, giving her everything he had. 

He felt the heat curling in his gut, the tingling in his lower spine, felt his legs start to tremble, and he tried to hold it off. “Come on,” he whispered against her throat, “come on.” And she did, tightening around him, clutching him to her with her hands and her arms and her legs, pulling him closer until he would swear they were one being. And he let go, unable to hold back his shout of joy, slamming into her a final time before his body stiffened and he froze. 

He was leaning against her, pinning her body to the wall with the angle of his and his weight alone, the strength gone from his arms and legs. His face was buried in her shoulder, and he was breathing in her scent and her sweat and her hair, and the ruched up fabric of her uniform shirt. He felt the urge to laugh. It was like their first time: him naked from the waist up, her from the waist down, her back against the wall just inside the door of her quarters. As long as the captain didn’t comm her with a sudden away mission with a psychopathic hologram, he was blissfully happy.

“If this is your way of convincing me that it’s not just about the sex, you might want to come up with another plan.” She had a sleepy, bemused expression on her face, and her voice was low and rough.

“And who ordered who to take off his clothes?” He arched an eyebrow, then leaned down and kissed her softly. “You’re mine. And I’m yours, B’Elanna. You can’t tell me you don’t feel the same way.”

“Tom…”

“I love you,” he said. “I’m in love with you. I have been for months. I don’t need some alien experiment to make me realize that.” _Harry was right_ , he thought, _this was easier with practice._

She tilted her head, obviously thinking about something. “I love you, too,” she said, “and I don’t care why. I don’t care if it was those scientists.” She shook her head. “I just know that I don’t want to be without you anymore.”

He stared into her eyes and smiled, then kissed her softly and lowered her to the floor. He gripped her hips, his hands finding her waist and pulling into a warm hug. He wasn’t able to hold her up anymore, but he wasn’t quite ready to let her go, either. 

 

6\. Iterate: use the results to make new hypotheses or prediction

 

Tom pulled the fastener on his jacket and straightened his collar. He shot his cuffs and smoothed a hand down his chest to his belly, tugged his uniform jacket into place. He reached up and finger-combed his hair. It had gotten a little mussed last night. He heard a rustling and glanced toward the bed. She was awake, propped up on one elbow, the lights from above the bed glinting off her smooth skin. She was watching him intently. 

“Tom?” She held out a hand to him, and he almost gave in right then.

He walked back to the bed, sliding one hand into hers, weaving their fingers together, and she lay back down. He sat on the edge of the mattress and cupped her bare shoulder in his palm, then trailed his fingers down her arm appreciating the silky warmth of her skin. He gently rubbed the inside of her elbow with the pad of his thumb. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” He drank her in: the soft sleepiness of her expression, the relaxation in her body which was usually tense, wired, the way her hair tumbled on her pillow, the slight parting of her full lips. He took the invitation and leaned down for a slow, sweet kiss. 

“Sneaking away?” she asked when he finally pulled back. 

He smiled, love for this woman shining in his eyes. “I’d love to stay, but I have an early shift with the doc this morning and I need a clean uniform.”

She shifted and looked toward her bedside table where an old fashioned alarm clock sat. Tom’s, of course. 

“It’s a little after four,” he said. “Meet me for lunch?”

She tilted her head. “So you are sneaking away.” 

“I thought…before people start moving around…” 

She lifted a hand and mussed his hair. “Do you really think there’s anyone on _Voyager_ who doesn’t know you stayed here last night? Or do you really need two hours to shower and change?”

“I can do it in four minutes,” he answered. “I’ve timed it.” 

She smiled a wicked invitation. “Six minutes to get to your quarters, five more to get to sickbay. That leaves you with a good hour and a half if you skip breakfast.”

“Breakfast is overrated.” He grinned back.

He unfastened his jacket and shrugged out of it. Pulled off his turtleneck. B’Elanna sat up and the blankets fell to her waist. He sucked in a breath. She reached for his undershirt and yanked it up and over his head with a grin. His hands settled on her shoulders as hers dropped to the fastener of his slacks. 

He placed a kiss on the rounded curve of her shoulder, then worked his way along her collarbone to her throat. She gave a throaty growl, and he had a half-second warning as her muscles tensed before she reached for his shoulders and slammed him onto his back on the bed. Her face lit with a feral grin, and her eyes sparkled as she slid off the bed, grabbed his slacks and hauled them and his boxers down his legs. 

“You think so, do you?” he rumbled as he pushed himself up to sitting then reached for her waist and swung her in an arc through the air. She landed flat on her back in the center of the bed. The air left her lungs in a ‘whoosh’ as he rolled on top of her; he grabbed her hands and pinned her down. She wove their fingers together and stared into his eyes, her body still, warm and welcoming. 

“I love you,” she murmured, and Tom felt his breath catch. 

“I love you, too, B’Elanna,” he said, “and I will until I’m old and gray.”

Her lips quirked. “So what happens then?” she asked. “I’m on my own?”

Tom shook his head. “Then I’ll worship you for the goddess you are.”

“You don’t think you’ll have had enough of me by then?” she asked, a teasing note in her voice.

He raised himself slightly and looked into her eyes, his expression softening. “I’ll never get enough of you.” 

Her body tensed, like she was gathering herself, and she pushed suddenly, tossing him off of her and rolling with him. They hit the floor with a thump, B’Elanna landing on his chest knocking the wind out of him. There was a wicked gleam in her eyes when she leaned toward him and kissed him hard, grinding his lips against his teeth. He tasted blood.

She raised her head and laughed, and Tom smiled and rolled her onto her back. “Let’s wake up the neighbours,” he said.

***

**Author's Note:**

> I got the definitions from somewhere on the ‘net (a kid/student site, I think) and I didn’t write it down, and now I forget where. So, my bad.


End file.
